


Our Understanding

by ActualHurry



Series: Our Epilogue [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Complicated Relationships, M/M, Other, Pining, mindbond, post shadowbringers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 21:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20477699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: Fray seeks to comprehend what makes Granson such an exception. You allow him to find out.





	Our Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> This is a successor to my previous Fray/WoL fic, Our Indulgence, because for some reason it felt...undone? Not betaed out of laziness and desire to get it posted, so here it is. I still feel like it deserves one last addition...involving Fray/Sid, so I can finally, PROPERLY make good on that tag.
> 
> The kind comments on the last one made sharing this stuff a lot less daunting, haha. Thank you all.

One night, you tell Granson everything (_not everything_, Fray whispers churlishly in your mind).

All the admissions seem premature and yet late. Should you have said something sooner, before crawling between the sheets with this man? Should you have hinted at the second string of thoughts that slip through your memory at the darkest and brightest of times?

Nothing for it now. Fray keeps quiet. You don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer. The gray set of _maybe_s is muddled, but gray is where you function best these days. 

It’s all in the open. What matters, anyway. Now Granson knows your soul is shared, now he knows your heart is occupied, and now he knows another can see out of your eyes. Your shadow walks with you – and it’s not a joke, not some clever, twisting phrase to make light of a Dark Knight’s murky path.

It’s the honest truth. Granson laughs at first, a touch bitter – not at you, you know. Then Fray’s glittering, bright gaze shows through yours and he stops laughing altogether and blinks, wide-eyed, right back.

_Your move, sinner_.

You let him ask his questions. Who are you, other than the Warrior of Darkness, and what have you done? You decline answering where you hail from, you sidestep the questions about _knights _and _righteousness _and _justice_. You are transparent about nearly all other things, and you stumble when he asks, very specifically, who in the world Fray truly is. 

_Tricky_, says a silent echo. You give the same reply that Sidurgu has always given: Fray is a frozen lake, and he is inscrutable at times, but a more loyal friend you have never known. You say that Fray is you, and you are Fray, but you are both a little un-you and un-Fray, too. _Greater than the sum of our parts_.

That this conversation happens in bed is not such a curious thing. Honesty in intimacy isn’t unheard of, by any means. Fray’s scoffed before at Granson, but he’s paid close attention to all your interactions with him. He can’t fool you. Each time you invite Granson to join you in bed – and all the action afterwards is over with – he gets particularly vocal with the whispers he’s allowed. He criticises Granson and appeals to you, not quite _sugary _in his wiles, but familiar and knowing in a way that an old, old friend is familiar and knowing.

“There’s more to you than I can ever uncover,” Granson tells you. 

The silent words flow through your head like a knocking on the door of your heart: _Not so for me_, Fray counters. _I’ve learned you a dozen times over._

“So,” Granson adds, sitting up slightly. The blankets slide from his shoulders, exposing his chest to the cool night air. He has scars – impressive ones, and unimpressive ones. That’s not _your _opinion though; it is Fray who judged them as such. “Fray, then.” 

Fray likely startles at the sound of his name. You know you do. The only people who ever speak it aloud are a world away. 

“He around?” Granson presses.

“He could be,” you say. 

“Suppose I should meet him,” Granson says, though he looks as if even he feels a bit awkward for approaching it this way. As well he should; you’re still very much naked. If Fray is at all put off by this turn of events, he doesn’t voice it. He’s silent, in fact. “Feels only right. Polite, even. Seeing as, well…” 

_Well, indeed_, you think. Or you think you think it.

Granson seems almost unwilling to say something, but he powers through. “If I’d known sooner that we had another present, I would’ve extended a courtesy.” 

You cough to hide a laugh and roll onto your back, rubbing hands over your face.

So long as you have everyone’s permission – and you do, you know you do, because you can feel the encroaching pressure that tightens the knots in your shoulders, an icy-chill underneath your tongue – you suppose you can hand over the reins.

It’s like dipping beneath cold, cold water and suspending yourself beneath the surface with another’s hands, someone clasping tight fingers over your mouth and pinching your nose shut and making you stay very, very still. You’re not suffocating, and it’s not cruel. It’s intimate and sweet.

You surrender yourself.

You’re ridiculous if you think that I’m going to play nicely with someone who hasn’t earned it yet. Of course, you know better. You wouldn’t have passed something as precious as your body over to me if you thought I’d break something of yours.

And as much as I don’t understand it…Granson’s as much yours as he can possibly be, isn’t he? 

I look at him.

He’s looking back. He doesn’t seem afraid. Interested. Wondering. But not afraid. Not even of the amber glow in your eyes. Not even of the slow curl to your lip. 

“The sinner,” I say. Your voice, your mouth, my words. 

“Fray,” Granson says, slow.

I’m not overmuch for speaking, truthfully. I’m not even particularly inclined to tell him anything at all, as he certainly hasn’t earned it.

_But he could_, you think. 

_Ye of little faith_, I return in a thought, mocking myself and myself alone. 

“Well then,” I finally start. “Our Warrior of Darkness here could pick anybody for a night’s company, you know. No shortage of eager folk around. Not for this one.” 

It’s blunt, but it does the trick. Granson blushes and all that wisdom born of suffering fades quickly from his face, replaced with a warmth that suits his youth. Fledgling. _Fledgling! _

“You pay a lot of attention to that?” Granson manages to ask, despite that flustered edge. He’s defensive. Good.

I laugh, once, though it’s more of a scoff. “Of course,” I say, gentler. “I pay attention to anything concerning them. Especially,” I add, leaning in nose-to-nose with him, “when _anything _becomes _anyone_.” 

Granson inhales sharply. I can feel that sucked-in breath as if it’s my own, I’ve put you that close to him. Suddenly, it clicks. You’ve given yourself over while in such a _calculated _position. Vulnerable and naked and muscle-weak from one go already.

And yes, finally, your intentions have been duly noticed. Clever of you. Coy of you.

Suppose there's no better, nor more intimate, way to get to know somebody.

I brush my lips over your hand before anything else – the closest, sorriest excuse for a kiss I will ever be able to give you – and then I put that same hand on Granson’s shoulders to push him to his back. Finally, I get you on top of him. I take both his wrists in either hand’s grip and pin them down to the bed. He looks up at you with wide pupils, a flush already crawling up his skin again. It’s endearing.

Ah, and even when I borrow your mind, your own thoughts bleed through to me. _Endearing _–? 

But I think of Sidurgu, and the first time I settled over him and traced my fingers over the edges of the scales adorning his neck. I remember the warmth overtaking his cheeks, and the unexpectedly surprised expression he wore, and those parted lips waiting for me to dip lower…

Perhaps, in that moment, I feel a little less harsh towards our sinner. 

Granson says, “Your eyes are so vivid.” He sounds appreciative and a little breathless. Already?

I settle you against his lap and notice, yes, something about this moment has _really _piqued his attention. 

“Flatterer,” I tell him with a wicked hook of a smile, and then get to work. 

Granson is a kisser, which comes as no surprise, and he kisses exactly the way he looks at you. His lips are softer than I care for, his teeth kept away – he favors this tenderness, and I think little of it. Certainly, I’ve fooled around kindly before, but there’s a rush in glinting teeth and harsh breaths and grabbing hands. I can’t replicate it like this. 

But this isn’t for me. Little is, these days.

It cannot last ‘til sunrise – the night is, of course, already half over. I explore him as thoroughly as I can, but I know I’m on borrowed time. The aether drain this is… By the time I’ve had my fill of playing around, I can feel my own senses slipping from yours, the slightest moment out of sync. Granson’s breathing fast, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. You skin is sticky with sweat and _other _things, his brow shines with exertion. He’s complimented me thrice over now with various attempts at speaking, only to fail. It’s hilarious. 

His chest rises and falls slower and slower, until he surely falls asleep against you. I shut your eyes and the world itself feels as if it’s spilling out of your ears. That’s that, then. Come now, back to yourself. He’s all yours again.

Remember: I love you, I love you more than anything. And…tell Sidurgu that I miss him.

The next time you open your eyes, the mid-morning sun shines through the window. Granson is still fast asleep next to you, and your body is all your own. Fray’s quiet; resting, you assume. It takes so much out of him.

You raise your hand to your mouth and kiss the back of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
